University  of  California 


1  C 


}  CALii-0 


n  of 


CALIFORNIA'S    CHAIN   OF    MISSIONS. 


BY  CARRIE  B.  RICE. 
ILLUSTRATED  BY  MABEL  E.  RICE. 


•**vrCBfi  ."*£. O  *jfn  da&s.of  yore,  the  Monks  who  came  into  the 

lonely  West, 
First  raised  the  cross  in  some  bright  glen,  or  on 

a  hilly  crest, 
And  swung  their  bells  from  ancient  oaks  to  call 

red  men  to  prayer, 
While  heads  were  bowed  to  chant  the  mass  out 

in  God's  open  air. 


From  sea-girt  San  Diego  to  the  open  Gate  of  Gold, 
Runs  a  chain  of  ruined  Missions  now,  adobe  shrines  of 

old, 
Once   the  bells  in   chiming   cadence   told   the   solemn 

hour  of  prayer, 
While  incense  rose  in  perfumed  clouds   upon  the  quiet 

air. 


The  silent  tongues  of  brazen  bells  still  hang  in  belfry 

towers, 
Now  hushed  the  echoing  notes  that  tell  of  holy  angelus 

hours, 
When  all  must  bow  and  cross  themselves,  must  count 

their  beads  and  pray, 
In  morning  hours,  in  noontide  heat  and  at  each  close 

of  day. 


With  beads  untold,  the  padres  lie  in  white-robed 

solitude, 
Sleeping  the  sleep  that  endeth  not,  in  tangled  f«J 

church-yard  rude,  'J' 

Where  shadows  of  low  arches  gray,  and  dim    '; 

arcades  repose, 
The  mustard  and  the  lily  white  and  golden  poppy 

blows. 


The  grape  vine  and  green  ivy  creep  on  trellis 

and  on  wall, 
Sweet    fragrant    breath  of    roses  greets  the 

feathery  peppers  tall, 
The  curved  stone  benches  yet  remain,  beneath 

the  palm  trees  shade, 
But  broken   now  the   turn-stile  gate  where 

crystal  fountains  played. 


Then  cross  the  emerald  pastures  and  the  smiling 

meadow  land, 
To  where  the  relic-hunter  has  laid  his  plundering 

hand  ; 
While  traveling  in  this  sunset  land,  in  health  or 

pleasure  quest, 
Whate'er  you  miss,  fail  not  to  see  these  abbeys 

of  the  West. 


Then  restore  the  pristine  beauty  of  these  land 
marks  old  and  gray, 

That  Spanish  fathers  cherished,  now  fast  falling 
to  decay, 

Though  of  another  faith,  'tis  true,  we'll  evermore 
revere, 

Storm-beaten  walls  that  crumble,  red -tiled 
cloisters  they  held  dear. 


/9oo 


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